My dog – or, more accurately, our dog, since he tends to mind my fiancee better … and since he’s only truly mine when he has succeeded in chewing something non-chewable, messing in an unsanctioned area, or creating other assorted mischief – is a work in progress.

In that regard, Pudge and I share some common ground … though he is only eight months old and still has the catch-all “he’s just a puppy” excuse to fall back on … and I don’t.

In theory, Pudge is a bird dog. He’s an English springer spaniel, and only the fact that I’m not much of a bird-hunter (yet) has kept us from exploring the sport together already.

The fact that eventually, he and I will walk around in the woods and look for birds is what’s known as “a hook.” It means that I get to write about him here … even though I’m not going to tell you a hunting story this morning. If that’s what you expected, don’t give up on us quite yet. What I’m going to tell you is better than a garden-variety boy-and-dog-meet-bird tale.

It’s a genuine miracle.

No matter what I may say in the lines that follow, realize that I am not complaining. We love Pudge. We tolerate his (increasingly rare) misdemeanors and try to dispense uniform, consistent justice (oops … I mean, we try to be consistent in our expectations and use of frequent praise with the furry little devil).

Truth be told, he listens to us … most of the time. He is very well behaved … most of the time. And he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.

With that said, he is also a bit … hmm … headstrong.

Especially when he wants to drag one of us across a park, just so he can find out if the child in the stroller is as cute as all the other children in strollers he’s dragged us to over the past few months.

Pudge, you see, is a bit of a politician. He likes to meet people. And he loves to kiss babies.

Though we’ve talked to trainers and read books and tried every tactic we could think of, a walk with Pudge had the tendency to turn into a very aerobic workout.

Picture a 45-pound springer spaniel as a motorboat. Picture his 225-pound owner (in the interest of saving my skin, let me be perfectly clear: I’m describing me … not my much smaller fiancee)… as a water skier. Picture my arms coming out of their sockets as Pudge pulls me around the lake … I mean, park.

Now, picture the new, improved Pudge.

He walks beside us. When we stop, he follows suit. Immediately. Not two exits later.

It is nothing short of a miracle. And it took all of ten minutes to make it happen.

Before I tell you how this miracle transpired, I want you to know two things: First, I typically don’t make pitches for products in this space.

And second, I am not making the pitch that follows because I received a free product from a distributor. I paid my $16.95, just like everyone else. Then I strapped my miracle gizmo to Pudge.

And I found I had a new dog.

Since I also don’t think it’s a good idea to let others have their arms ripped out of their shoulder sockets unnecessarily, I’ve decided to let you in on the secret.

If you’re a dog person, you may well have heard of the Premier Gentle Leader head collar. Simply put, it’s a regular collar with a second noose that fits semi-loosely around your pooch’s snout.

It is not a muzzle. He can wear it while eating or drinking. He can bark (if he’s a barker). But when he tries to make like he has a 75 horsepower motor strapped to his back … well, he can’t do that.

The collar cinches gently down on his snout … which he doesn’t like. If he continues to pull, his head will swing to the side … which he also won’t care for.

And he’ll find that if he simply walks beside you, he has a slack leash, and can sniff the trees, look lovingly up at you, and have a great time.

I won’t overburden this sales pitch. Give it a try if you want. I just know Pudge won’t be without one from now on.

Ever since writing the column dealing with rocker Ted Nugent and his Maine bear-hunting trip a week or so ago, I’ve been asked the same question.

“Did Ted get his bear?”

Well, I didn’t share the answer with all of you for one reason: Until this morning, I just didn’t know. Nugent, you see, headed right into the woods after what I originally thought was an interview. Upon further review, that “conversation” may well have been a 20-minute high-octane Nugent rant, with a couple of interruptions by me that allowed him to catch his breath before beginning to rant anew.

Either way, one thing became clear. When Ted Nugent is going hunting, the last thing you want to do is stand in front of the truck to slow him down and ask one final question.

The next morning, Nugent wasn’t going to be available, because he was heading out of town for another concert.

Which left me trying to catch up with guide Wayne Bosowicz, the owner of Foggy Mountain Guide Service and Nugent’s host for the frantic day of hunting.

Finally, I did that. Well, I almost did that. Actually, Wayne came in from the woods for a minute, called, and left a message. (If you haven’t figured it out yet, the life of a successful bear-hunting guide is only slightly less hectic than that of a bear-hunting rock star).

Here’s what Wayne had to say.

“I have the answer to your question: Did Nugent see a bear?

“In three hours, he saw four bear and shot one. End of story,” Bosowicz told me … or my answering machine.

“Couldn’t have scripted it any better,” he said. “We’ll talk more when things slow down.”

Click.

So, there’s your answer. Nugent came. He saw. He hunted. End of story.

John Holyoke can be reached at jholyoke@bangordailynews.net or by calling 990-8214 or 1-800-310-8600.